Dancing For Her Food

This is another excerpt from the novel Witness of Gor, one of my favourite books from the series. In this exceprt the girl Janice has been summoned to the quarters of the guard officer Terrance of Treve. Having not been fed since dawn, and just finished serving him food, she is ravenous, but if she wants to be fed, she must first dance well for her Master:

I did not even know the name of he who reclined upon the divan. But what needed I to know, other than the fact that he was a free man, and I would address him as “Master”? He knew my name, of course, the only name I had, which had been put on me in this place, ‘Janice’.
I was barefoot. There were bangles on my ankles.
“The Earth woman is hungry?”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“And would be fed?”
“Yes, Master,”
“We shall see how you perform,” he said.
“Master?” I asked.
“Do you know how to use your veil?” he asked.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Discard it then,” he said.
I removed the veil from about my shoulders, and dropped it to the side. It floated to the glossy tiles, and lay there, lightly, crumpled.
“Remove your outer silks,” he said.
I obeyed, and put them to the side.
The music rippled.
I wore now a skirt of filmy silk, which would swirl as I moved. It was open to my left. My midriff was muchly bared. My breasts were haltered high. Tiny straps came over my shoulders. In such garments one might serve at more decorous banquets, though, to be sure, most likely not if free women were present. When free women are present, one usually serves gowned, or tunicked. At less decorous banquets one might expect to serve differently, in a ta-teera, in rags, in a slave strip, naked, in such ways. I wore bracelets, an armlet, bangles. Too, I had been given earrings, golden rings.
“Do you know the name of this world?” he asked.
“Gor,” I said.
“Do you know how to dance?” he asked.
“No!” I said.
“Surely they taught you something in the pens,” he said.
“I am not a dancer!” I wept.
“Surely you know something of the basic steps,” he said, “the walks, the glides, the presentations, the turns, the arm movements?”
“A little, Master,” I said, in misery. To be sure, one is not likely to escape the pens without being taught such rudiments.
“You are going to dance for me, Earth woman,” he said.
“I do not know how to dance!” I protested.
There was a tiny, skeptical skirl from one of the instruments.
“Beginning position!” he snapped.
There are several such. I swiftly flexed my knees, lifted my rib cage, and put my hands together, wrists crossed, over my head, the backs of my hands facing out, the palm of my right hand over the palm of my left hand.
He rose from the divan, as I stood thusly before the divan, so posed, and went to the side of the room. From one of the ornate chests he fetched forth a thick, single-bladed, snakelike slave whip. I watched him with terror as he approached. Then he stood to one side. Then, suddenly, at the side, he snapped the whip. The report was like the crack of a rifle. I nearly fainted. I sobbed.
“You are going to dance for me, Earth woman,” he said, menacingly, “and as what you are, and what you are only, an Earth-girl slave before her Gorean master.” He then snapped the whip again. “Do you understand?” he asked.
“Yes, Master!” I wept.
He then returned to the divan, on which he reclined, the whip on the silks beside him, inches from his grasp.
“Begin,” he said.
I danced.
At one point he lifted his finger and the music stopped, and I stopped.
“Do you know the use of finger cymbals?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“Continue,” he said.
And so again the music began, and again I danced. Alas, I, so little trained in the art form, fro an art form it is, was only too painfully aware of how far short my efforts must fall from those of a skilled performer. Could I do more than squirm, and writhe, and plead with my body, for mercy? But perhaps my desperation might amuse him? Perhaps he was merely interested in registering, with bemused tolerance, the inept, pathetic strivings of an Earth-girl slave to please him, hoping not to be beaten. Perhaps he was having me do this merely that he might at the end, for my clumsiness, lash me? Yet, too, I did not want to betray the dance. I loved it. It is so beautiful. I wanted, thusly, to suggest, within my limits, at least, something of the richness, the complexity, the profound sensuousness of such dance. Such dance can be a revelation to those who are unfamiliar with it, who have never seen it. Some never suspect how beautiful and exciting a woman can be until they see her in such dance. In few ways better than in such dance is it made more evident what an incredibly beautiful, marvelous, precious, wonderful thing a woman is. It is no wonder they want to get their chains on us. And, too, of course, I was frightened of him. I did want to display myself, and present myself, well before him. I did not want to be whipped. But, too, I confess, I wanted him to want me. I was stirred by him, powerfully, sexually, as I was by many on this world, such men, and I wanted, thusly, to please him and excite him. He, as many men on this world, set fires in my belly. I danced before him. He helped himself, from time to time, to some of the food left on the table, a grape, a tiny viand, keeping his eyes on me. I must remember the hand and arm movements, the spins, the circles, the lifts, the thrusts! And then, at some point, perhaps when I was kneeling before him, moving my arms, and head and shoulders, I think I became one with the music and the dance. Startled I rose to my feet and began to move about the room. Were there hundreds present? Did they feast their eyes on this dancer? I went even to the musicians and moved, presenting myself as a slave, before them. Were they not, too, men, and thus such as before whom it was appropriate that I present myself, hoping for their approbation? In the eyes of the musicians I read something that I had not expected to find, that they were not displeased with the sight of the slave before them. How this made me hope, and how my heart was filled with a sudden surge of elation!

But it was not these men whom I must most desperately strive to please. It was another. I returned, to move before him. Then, again, I whirled away, going about the divan, to the narrow window and dancing before it. Doubtless there were none out there who saw me so move. The lights were beautiful. I then, in my dance, utilized the corners and surfaces of chests, and the walls of the room. I saw, beside the divan, a coil of chain. I danced away from it, terrified. Then it seemed I was alone with the dance, and my joy in it. And then, a moment later, wildly, it seemed again that I must dance for many. Did I hear the striking of the shoulders in applause, the pounding of goblets on low tables, the urgent cries of men? What power, I thought, must a dancer, a true dancer, exercise over men! How she must arouse them, how she must drive them mad with passion! But what power, ultimately, is hers, for she is in her collar? When the music stops is she not then, clearly, once again, only a slave at the feet of men? And is not the central, nonrepudiable message of this dance, in its entire concept, in its beauty, in its presentation of the female in all her marvelous sensuousness that man is the master? This form of dance, on this world, is called “slave dance.” That is perhaps partly because, on this world, it is permitted only to slaves, but I think it is more likely because, in it, the nature of women is clearly manifested as slave. One might also mention that the dancer, in this form of dance, on this world, is commonly expected to satisfy the passions which she may have aroused. The submission which commonly figures in the finale of her dance, on this world, is not, I assure you, purely symbolic.

I danced out, only the porch, overlooking the city, the lights. I now saw that some of the lights, indeed, were on the distant walls of the city. They were beacons. Their primary purpose is to guide in the warriors, mounted on the gigantic saddlebirds, to enable them to safely negotiate the defenses of stakes and wire on the walls. The stars were very beautiful. I looked up and gasped, for then, for the first time, I saw the three moons. I had learned there were three moons here but this was the first time I had seen them. One does not see the moons in the pens, or in the depths, and, if they were visible, I had not noticed them during the light of the day.
“Return, slave,” I heard.
I swiftly whirled about, and re-entered the room there were three moons here! But then, in a moment, I was, again, before he upon the divan.
He lifted his finger and the music stopped, and I, too, stopped.
There is one aspect to slave dance to which I have neglected to call explicit attention, but it is one which, I suspect, at least implicitly, is clear to all. Slave dance is arousing to the female who dances it. Once cannot move as in slave dance without becoming sexually aroused. In this sense, twofold effect occurs when we dance before masters. One has not only an arousal display but an arousal activity. And there is a reciprocal, mutually reinforcing, interaction between these things, as one understands that one is arousing, and he understands that you are also being aroused, and you know that he understands this, and so on. Indeed, slave dance can function as a cure for frigidity. It relieves inhibitions, improves confidence, and, I suppose, to some extent, literally stirs and stimulates organs. It is difficult for a body which has been trained in slave dance, for example, to be stiff and unresponsive. To be sure, there are many cures for frigidity. An obvious one is the condition of bondage itself. Another is the whip, and switch.
“Remove your upper silk,” he said.
I undid the halter, and slipped it away.
I saw that I would, indeed, dance as an Earth-girl slave before her Gorean master.
For a time I danced in this fashion, and then, again, he lifted his finger and the music stopped, and, I too, stopped.
I looked at the remains of the food on the low table. I was very hungry.
“Remove your silk,” said he, “Earth woman.”
My hands went to the hip band and undid the clasp there. I lifted the silk to the side. I dropped it to the tiles.
He indicated to the musicians that they should again play. This time, doubtless in virtue of some arrangement with, or signal conveyed to, the musicians, it was an extreme adagio melody to which I must move. I remained in place, so dancing, almost without movement.
He picked up the whip, and walked about me, scrutinizing the slave.
I was terribly afraid I would be struck.
Then he was again before me, back some five feet or so, that he might have an excellent view.
The whip, coiled, was in his right hand.
“Do the women of your world often dance thusly, naked before their males?” he asked.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
“Doubtless they will have them dance thusly, for they are men,” he mused.
I was silent.
“And do they whip the women if they are not pleasing?” he asked.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
“You seem to know very little of your world,” he said.
“It is very different from this world, Master,” I said.
“But you know that you will be whipped, here on this world, Earth woman, if you are not pleasing, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master!” I said.
With a motion of his wrist he flicked out the blade of the whip, uncoiling it. He observed it. The end of the blade, snakelike, narrow and tapering, was upon the tiles. He then, with another movement of his wrist, lifted it from the tiles.
“Please, do not whip me, Master,” I begged. “I will try to be pleasing!”
“I am sure you will,” said he, “Earth woman.”
He then returned to the divan, and reclined thereupon. He indicated to the musicians that they might increase the tempo, which they did.
I danced.
How helpless we are!
How these men master us!
I wore my collar. It was narrow, close-fitting, locked. It was a state collar. On it was my name, that name which had been given to me, ‘Janice’. I had been a free woman of Earth. I had then been brought to this world. I was now only a slave.
I danced.
How incredibly free and female I felt.
I danced.
I had been sent to his quarters.
I danced before him.
I wondered how I looked to him. I hoped desperately that he might find me pleasing. I wondered how women such as I looked to males. Well, I conjectured, in our collars, obeying, hoping to please, striving desperately to please. How exciting, how glorious, how joyful, how real, how meaningful it must be to be a male on a world such as this, I thought, a world in which they had such power, at least over such as I. Here, you see, they had kept their mastery, in the order of nature. Here males were men, and here females, at least those such as I, could only be women, their women. How was it, I wondered, that these men had never relinquished their nature, that they had never surrendered their manhood, that they had never betrayed their blood, that they had never permitted themselves to be diminished and reduced, destroyed and crippled? I did not know. But they had not. Did they sense the danger we might pose to them, if they were weak, or permissive, or lenient? Was that why they were as they were? Was that why they put us in collars and kept us at their feet, because they knew us so well? But how could we be women if they were not men? Or had they profited from some hideous illustration of nature gone awry, from the dismal instruction of some tragic lesson, from the clear example of some pathological mistake, one they would simply not permit to occur in their won world? Or, perhaps, it was merely that this world had developed as it had, drawing strength and meaning from nature, rather than trying to live, dry and rootless, apart from her? But, as I danced before him, I did not think merely how exciting, how glorious, how joyful, how real, how meaningful it must be to be a male on this world but also, despite its dangers, its terrors, how exciting, how glorious, how joyful, how real, how meaningful it was to be a woman on this world! I had never begun to feel so fulfilled on my old world as I had here. It was only on this world, it seemed, that I had, in my small, lowly way, begun to feel fully meaningful. It was here that someone, deeper and more real than names, had found herself.
I knew who she was.
It was fully fitting that she danced as she did, before such a man. It was not merely he who knew this, you see. It was I, as well.
“To the floor,” said he, “Earth woman.”
The Earth woman then, to the music, slowly and gracefully lowered herself to the floor, and there, to those sensuous strains, speaking so unabashedly to the blood of men and women, continued her dance.
He clapped his hands, ending the music.
I rose to all fours, before him, on the glossy tiles.
“You are not now closely silked,” he said.
So I knelt now before him, my back straight, my head down, the palms of my hands down on my thighs, my knees properly, widely spread.
I heard him speak to the musicians. I head the clinking of what was doubtless a small sack of coins. One by one the three musicians left. One said, “A pretty slave.” Another said, “Yes,” He before whom I had performed said, “She has much to learn.” “Doubtless she will be well taught,” said the leader of the musicians.
“I wish you well,” said the officer to them. “We wish you well,” said the leader of the musicians. They had then left.
I remained kneeling before the divan, head down.
I heard something strike the tiles before me. It was a tiny leg of roast fowl.
I looked up at him, knowing that I dare not yet break position.
I was ravenously hungry. I was starving.
But I could not yet reach for the food.
I had not yet received permission.
“You may feed,” he said